


Always a Queen

by ModernDayBard



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 13:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17550749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernDayBard/pseuds/ModernDayBard
Summary: Re-posted from my FF account--not stolen."Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen in Narnia." In other words, even if you forget Narnia, Aslan doesn't forget you.





	Always a Queen

“But did you _all_ have to be there!?”

Was this her fifth breakdown or her sixth? She didn’t even know any more. But after losing her parents, siblings, cousin and their friends in a single train accident, even the coldest person would grant that Susan Pevensie had the right to vent. It was undignified—unattractive—to have an outburst in the presence of her boyfriend, Carl, but grief is rarely, if ever, dignified or attractive.

“Couldn’t you have let that silly game go? If you hadn’t still been going on about Narnia, some of you would still be here, and I wouldn’t be _alone_!”

“Narnia?” Carl asked, confused.

Susan stopped pacing abruptly, but couldn’t meet his eyes. “It was a game we played as children—the professor taught it to us, then Edmund and Lucy passed it onto Eustace, who told Jill. We came up with stories about a magical land called Narnia. The others never stopped. That day, only Mom, Dad, Jill and Eustace _should_ have been on that train or at that station. If they were all traveling together, that means it must have had something to do with that silly story.” She halted her explanation, glaring down the hallway of her childhood home towards what had once been their bedrooms. “Was ‘Narnia’ worth _dying_ for?”

“It sounds like it was more than a story, to them,” Carl offered, leaning against the wall, arms folded. “It sounds to me like they were suffering from a group self-delusion. You read about them a lot—they probably had convinced themselves it was real. It’s more common than you think.”

Susan regarded him blankly, trying to process his words. “You mean they were...crazy?”

“That’s putting it a bit crudely, and I’d hate to speak ill of the dead, but they were too old to still be playing make-believe and they were acting on in the real world—a group delusion is the only logical explanation,” Carl replied matter-of-factly.

“Or they were telling the truth,” Susan muttered, Carl’s words triggering echoes of a half-faded memory. “There are three possible explanations: they were mad, they were telling the lies, or they were telling the truth.”

Carl was regarding her with an odd look now. _Shut up!_ Susan screamed at herself mentally. _You know he hates it when you discuss logic with him—be like Rebecca, he likes his girls pretty and silly._ But for once, she didn’t heed her own advice.

“You’ve already pointed out that they weren’t pretending—telling lies—so they were either mad or telling the truth,” Her mind was turning the problem over, much as it had when the professor had first posed this same ‘trilemma’ all those years ago. “I don’t think they could have been mad. Eustace and Jill got consistently high marks at school, the professor was a highly respected, well, professor, Aunt Polly was one of the plainest and most practical women you could ever hope to meet, and my siblings—”

Her voice broke there, but she rallied after a moment.

“You only had to look at them—talk to them—to know they weren’t crazy. They were healthier—more whole—than me, it seemed sometimes. They were grounded, complete. They had purpose.”

Carl waved his hand dismissively. “That doesn’t mean anything. These kinds of delusions are generally created to give a sense of meaning and purpose to a meaningless existence.”

“A sense we wouldn’t know to crave if existence were truly meant to be pointless,” Susan countered, beginning to feel like herself for the first time in years. “No—we were meant for...for something, and who’s to say they didn’t find it, or a glimpse of it?”

“Are you defending their delusion or joining in? Only a moment ago you were blaming it for their deaths!” Carl pointed out, a little anger creeping into his tone.

_Stop this, or you’ll lose him, too!_ Her inner voice cried again, but it was being drowned out by the returning memories—memories of a time when she had felt complete, safe, a part of something; memories of melting snow and talking animals; memories of terrible battles and glorious feasts; and most precious of all: memories of a golden mane, a triumphant roar, and strength entering her after a lion’s kiss was planted on her forehead. “They were _not_ crazy; I know that much.”

“Come now, Susan, I know you’re upset, but you’re hardly a psychological or philosophical expert. I’m not saying they weren’t good people, or that they didn’t lead happy lives; I’m just saying that they created their own coping mechanism in the face of unforgiving reality.”

“They simply couldn’t handle it then?” Susan asked, fists clenching. “Tell me, then, since you’re such an _expert_ : if my siblings needed a coping mechanism, why didn’t I? We have the same family, went through the same things. What predisposed me to sanity? What made me different? The obsession with dresses and makeup? The worthless parties? The air-headed friends I sacrificed my very sense of self to emulate and please? The society of appearance and reputations that drains you and casts you aside? _You_ , with your cold modern philosophy and precious psychological analyses? They were always themselves; I was the one wearing a disguise. So tell me: which of us had the coping mechanism? Which of us ran from reality?”

She’d marched right up to him, and in that moment, she hated his smug self-assurance, his patronizing condescension, and she _hated_ the way he leaned so causally against the wall as if belittling her pain and grief along with her intellect and family.

Carl merely sneered at her before starting to leave. “You’re too emotional to think straight; I don’t have time for this. Let me know when you come to your senses.”

She stood still as he walked away, and to her surprise she felt nor fear or sense of loss as he left, only relief and satisfaction. “Maybe I just did!” she shouted at the closed door.

Even Queen Susan the Gentle had her limits.

* * *

_The hardest thing about dying is living on,_ Susan thought to herself a few days later as she made her way back to her flat after another long day of clearing out the house. _And yet, somehow, we do._

She gradually slowed to a halt, glancing at the venerable cathedral she’d stopped in front of, hesitating a moment as memories overtook her again.

_“But Aslan, if we never come back to Narnia, then we’ll never see you again!”_

_“Do not fear, Dear Heart. You shall meet me again.”_

_“In our world? You’re there, too?”_

_“I am, but there I am known by another name; you must find me out by that name. That is why you were called here to Narnia—that you may come to know me better, there.”_

Those were some of the last things Aslan had said to her and Peter on their last time in Narnia. She’d never found who or what He had meant, but then, had she really looked? No, she’d given up before she ever started trying. But Peter had searched, and Edmund and Lucy after their last time, and it was clear just by watching them that they had found Him again.

Without realizing it, Susan had entered the church, slipping into a pew halfway up the aisle. She stared up at the altar, and the stained glass window behind it: a cross on a grassy hill, and a lamb lying at its foot; behind the lamb crouched a lion, staring out over the empty sanctuary with golden eyes... _familiar_ golden eyes.

She looked away, unable, as always, to hold that steady gaze. The glass eyes were not unseeing, rather, they saw too much: right into the depths of her heart where a high and holy secret had once been held, known, and loved. But as the years went on and the pressure to assimilate to the crowd and culture had increased, the secret had been forgotten, ignored, and all but choked out.

What had she done? She’d taken the greatest treasure and traded it for worthless baubles. She’d driven her family away so much and so often it was as if she’d lost them long before they’d died.

Was it too late to change? To go back to the girl she’d once been, all those years ago? Susan remembered how Aslan forgave her lapse of faith on her second trip to Narnia, all those years ago, and dared to hope.

“I’ve been a fool—I’ve sinned against you and against my family.  I am no longer worthy to be a queen, anymore, but let me be your servant again.”

* * *

Many years had passed in the England we know—decades, even—but in the _real_ England and the _real_ Narnia, no time had passed at all, for there was no time there, only eternity.

Susan, who’d lost her outward beauty to wrinkles and grey hairs years before, only for her inner beauty to grow ever clearer and brighter, had drifted off into her deepest sleep yet, only to awaken on a mountainside, wilder and greener than any place she’d ever seen—in _any_ world. She stood in dazed wonder that all her aches and pains were gone, then turned as a girl’s laugh—lively, lovely, and achingly familiar—caught her ear.

She gasped in delight as she recognized the nine figures running toward her. One girl was out in front, racing ahead of the others in her rush to greet her sister. “Susan!” Lucy called, cannoning into the older girl and grabbing her in a bone-crushing hug.

Tears stung Susan’s eyes, but she wasn’t sad—how could she be, now that she was reunited with her family and friends?

No one knows how long that reunion lasted, but the others eventually fell back a little as the great golden Lion, Aslan Himself, approached. Fearfully, ashamed of her folly from so long ago, Susan advanced on trembling legs, falling to her knees before Him.

“Aslan...I’m so sorry. I’m not worthy to be here.”

“Peace, Dear Heart,” the great Lion intoned, stooping his head so that his great mane and its perfume were all around her. “You have come home at last.”

Susan couldn’t raise her head to face him. “But I-I walked away from being Queen Susan.”

She was interrupted by Lucy’s musical laugh. “Susan, have you even looked at yourself?”

She glanced at her younger sister, then down at herself to see that she was once again a young woman, dressed in the finery of a Narnian queen. “B-but how?”

Aslan laughed, too—a deep, wild laugh they could not help but join in with. “Dear Heart, you have heard this truth before: Once a king or queen in Narnia, _always_ a king or queen in Narnia.”

A mighty rush of joy flowed through Susan, then, and the sun and the stars above themselves seemed to sing in celebration that Queen Susan the Gentle had re-entered the Great Story once more.

**Author's Note:**

> A Facebook group I was a part of sparked a discussion once about Susan’s arc and her situation at the end of the series, and in responding with my thoughts (in short, that she drifted away to follow the crowd, but still had the chance to come back), this story came to mind, so I had to write it.


End file.
